Proserpina

An arm of steel held me to a white shirt, the top buttons opened carelessly almost to mid-waist to reveal a perfectly muscled chest covered with curling, bristling grey hair.

I was still shaking in fear, with a reaction of horror from the situation I had barely avoided as the man spoke, in an arrogant growl, addressing someone beside him,

“Who the f*ck is this little tramp? Who allowed a juvenile wh*re into my Fight Club?”

Gasping in outrage, I looked up, straight into a pair of hard, pale eyes.

His cold eyes held contempt although he was propping me up, the hands on me like a vice. He...